


Crown and Scepter

by percentage



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Day6 Ensemble, Drama, Gods, Kings & Queens, Mentioned TWICE Ensemble, Minor GOT7 (Ensemble), Multi, Mythology References, Non-Graphic Violence, Princes & Princesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percentage/pseuds/percentage
Summary: All Crown Prince Bang Chan wants is his rightful throne back, but it may not be that easy.





	Crown and Scepter

Jisung wraps cloth around his fingers deftly, strips of fabric covering his fingers in a matter of seconds. It’s a practiced movement, one done almost absentmindedly, and he leaves the tips of his fingers bare as he reaches for a dark green cloak next.

It sweeps over his shoulders, the fall of the hood’s fabric at his neck hiding the clasp. After a moment of deliberation, he grabs a dagger off the desk to slide into a sheath at his hip, and takes an experimental few steps around.

Light, easy movement. Good. He doesn’t need anything to weigh him down today.

“Don’t forget your signet ring.” The comment - a reprimand, hidden underneath fake nonchalance - comes from Sitraiys’s Minister of Finance, Han Jihyun. Jisung’s father.  
  
“I’m not incompetent, father,” Jisung remarks, teasing, and slips the ring in question into a leather pouch at his waist. His fingers work at the drawstrings, pulling them tight. “Is there anything else that you were worried that I forgot?”

His father’s eyes furrow, and the lightness in Jisung’s tone almost wavers. Almost, except he’s in too good of a mood for it to be spoiled and too old to let his father really get to him in the way that he used to.

“I have nothing else to remind you of,” his father says, “Except to exercise due caution when you visit Duke Im Jaebum today.”

Jisung fights the urge to give his father a wide-eyed look of exasperation, and refocuses on rummaging through the drawer of his desk. Pearls, a map of Sitraiys, blank parchment, and...a sealed letter. He examines the last item more closely, and then places it in the inner pocket of his cloak. “I always do.”

“And I always worry,” his father sighs, tone filled with a distant sort of dubiousness. He’s always allowed Jisung to act however he wanted, fully believing that he’s capable of being held accountable for his actions, but it’s not the same thing as him respecting his son’s decisions. Trusting his son’s decisions. “Have you heard anything from him on what he plans to do?”

The “he” Jihyun is referring to is not the duke. It has never been the duke.

Jisung’s hands still for a fraction of a second. He closes the drawer. “We’ve reached a stalemate, like I told you the last time I visited the duke, but I’ll convince him to visit her.”

“Is that so?”

“We’re alone,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “If you have something to say, father, can you speak in clearer terms?”  
  
“You mentioned last time, Jisung,” Jihyun murmurs, the enunciation of his syllables clear, “that Duke Im Jaebum was getting restless. He hasn’t anticipated the reclamation of the throne to take as long as it is, and if we delay too long, we risk drawing his anger.”  
  
“And losing his support,” Jisung responds, the lilt in his voice making the statement sound more like a question.

“No,” his father corrects, “Not his support. That would be logical, but Jaebum’s character would never allow him to do that. He would never abandon Crown Prince Chan.”  
  
“Why? Because he is so righteous of a person, with such strong character?” Jisung asks, but his tone is incredulous. “No such man exists.”  
  
“Because he was there when King Bang Chanwoo was killed.”

“Do you think that makes him more loyal of an ally?” Jisung asks, skepticism bleeding into his tone. “Should he not be afraid, after seeing Hwang Hyuntae kill his king?”  
  
“King Hwang Hyuntae is a treasonous murderer,” Jihyun says. “But Duke Im is both a murderer and someone who is now committing treason. The difference is that conviction and faith that he is doing the right thing drives him forward, instead of ambition. Is it not the same with all of us?”

“No,” Jisung corrects. He tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes, dark irises fixed onto his father’s. “I have plenty of ambition, father.”  
  
His father smiles. “I would expect nothing less.”  
  
“And father?”  
  
“Yes?”

“There is no King Hwang Hyuntae,” Jisung says without looking at his father, stepping to the door, pulling his hood over his head. “What you referred to him earlier by - that’s not his title. It’s just Duke Hwang.”  
  
His father raises an eyebrow, smiling. “So you’re right.”  
  
“I always am,” Jisung says cheekily.

“Brat,” his father scolds, but with no real heat. “Get going already.”

 

* * *

 

Less than a year ago, Hwang Hyuntae, the wealthiest duke in Sitrayis, swept in to come visit the king with his son, and the king at the time - the _rightful_ king - Bang Chanwoo had welcomed his old friend with welcome arms. The king had called for a private meeting between only him, another duke, Im Jaebum, and Hyuntae - with none of their knights to protect them in the throne room. There seemed to be no need, after all - they had known each other in childhood and were considered to be brothers in all but blood.

But then - halfway through their greetings, when Chanwoo was turning around to draw Jaebum into a hug - Hyuntae withdrew his sword and stabbed Chanwoo in the chest.

Jaebum ran. He _ran,_ entering the main hall of the palace, and called out _treason_ to anyone who had been around that was willing to listen. But no one had responded.

No one at all.

The guards faced forward, unblinking. The nobles only sent a cursory glance towards him, and court women continued whispering to themselves furiously. Laughter echoed down the long corridor, high-pitched and feminine. Men spoke gruffly to each other in small groups.

Jaebum didn’t understand.

Hyuntae had followed, slinging an arm around Jaebum’s shoulders when he emerged from the throne room. There were wet droplets of blood on his clothing.

“Jaebum,” he had said, fondly, “Don’t you know what’s going on?"

“Chan,” Jaebum had uttered, frozen, a horrible, rasping sound. He hadn’t dared to shake off Hyuntae’s arm. “Have you killed him, too? And Jeongin?”  
  
“The crown prince has died,” Hyuntae shrugged, using his free hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. He had spoken nonchalantly, the stories said. As if he were talking about the weather. “But I had the mercy to leave Yang Jeongin alive. He poses no threat to the new king’s reign, you know.”  
  
“The new king,” Jaebum had repeated, uncomprehending. He _knew_ without knowing - this change in rule. “You.”  
  
“Yes,” Hyuntae said. “Me.”

 

* * *

 

It was partly a lie, what Hyuntae had told Jaebum then -

The knight that he had sent to kill Chan was slain in turn by Sir Kang Younghyun. During their fight, Kim Woojin - a squire at the time - had snuck away and hurriedly escorted the crown prince to his house, where he hid the crown prince, until a day later he was moved to Duke Im Jaebum’s estate, where he resides.

Someone else died under the name of Prince Chan. The new king Hwang Hyuntae held a public funeral alongside Chanwoo’s, and few nobles came to mourn. The coffin was closed. No one had dared to ask why.

 

* * *

 

Jisung’s satchel hits his thigh rhythmically as he rides, his horse trotting neatly underneath him. He leans forward, urging his horse to hurry into a canter, and tugs his hood lower, deep in thought.

Bang Chanwoo was a king by birthright, the sixth ruler in a long line of royalty that dated back to the original founder. He was a ruler made through the same principles that had made Sitraiys, raised to abide by the rules of honor and trust and justice. A king was meant to be a god to his people, a distantly benevolent force that was to be loved and worshipped. No one had personified those qualities better than the late king, and that was precisely what made him so well-loved by the people.

Hwang Hyuntae had none of those traits. He was a duke by nature, raised by a different set of codes than those that applied to the king. He was human. The people knew that he favored traditional architecture and women with beautifully dark hair and beauty marks, and that he spoke the common tongue better than that of the royals’, that he had a quick temper and a fierceness in battle that remained unmatched amongst the other lords. He was a man where King Chanwoo was a legend.

An extraordinary man, no doubt, one that was capable of tugging off a crown from a dead god’s head and putting it on his own with nothing but his human hands. A man that was driven by something greater than devotion, darker than honor, more unforgiving than heaven’s will, a man that wanted so desperately to be king that he was not above killing one of his closest friends to do so.

But men are not meant to be ruled by other men.

 

* * *

 

But, Jisung thinks, even if he really tries, he cannot fault Hyuntae.

Jisung has grown up with the coals of ambition sparking his desire into an open flame, lead by the drive given to him by the goddess Gloria. Jisung knows what it feels like to be given a lot that is smaller than even a half of your dreams, and the black-hot raw _want_ to pursue a desire.

There are men like Bang Chanwoo and Bang Chan, who simply want to pursue their birthright and take what is given to them through the will of the gods, he reflects, and then there are men like Han Jisung and Hwang Hyuntae, who could be given the world and would still find it lacking.

 

* * *

 

The duke is waiting for Jisung even before he arrives, a speck of his house’s green amongst three other figures clad in white and silver.

Jisung dismounts as soon as Duke Im Jaebum is in hearing range, and bends into a bow. “Your Grace.”

There’s a woman on the duke’s left, but her white dress is foreign. No royal house wears white - not in Sitraiys, at least. She smiles at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and dips her head in greeting. At Im Jaebum’s right side, Knight Wang Jackson flashes a blinding smile at Jisung, but is otherwise absorbed in an argument that he’s holding with Knight Tuan Mark.

(It seems to be an urgent conversation, especially with how insistently Jackson is gesturing, but Jisung catches a snippet of it and - “No, I _swear,_ they had tangerines the size of your hand - “

"Isn’t that just an orange, then?” Mark asks, clearly doubtful. His armor clinks as he crosses his arms, his tone bland and unimpressed. “I don’t believe you.”

“No.” Jackson’s smile drops off of his face at a terrifying speed. “It was a tangerine.”)  
  
“Jisung,” Jaebum asks, completely ignoring the conversation behind him and foregoing a greeting entirely, “Do you need help with your things?”

“No, just my horse.“ Jisung lowers his hood, shaking out his hair. He glances at the woman. “And this is…? I apologize. I don’t think we’ve been acquainted before.”

“Lee Saerom, my guest,” the duke introduces. The woman in question curtsies elegantly. Her robes are relatively fine - around the same quality as Jaebum’s, Jisung notes, but strangely practical. “She’ll be staying for the duration of this week, before she goes to pay her formal respects to the king. She’s aware of...what we’re doing. Saerom, this is Han Jisung.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Saerom says pleasantly. Her voice is pretty, just like the rest of her. “Even under it is under extenuating circumstances.”  
  
“Likewise,” Jisung says, eyes darting in confusion towards the duke. How could he just - tell a stranger about _them?_  What they're doing? He’ll trust in Jaebum’s judgement, but… “I’m sorry - is Changbin already there?”  
  
“He’s waiting,” Jaebum replies. He stretches out his hand, waiting, and Jisung hands him the reins to his horse. “I’ll take care of your things. Saerom - do you mind leading him to the hall? I’ll deal with these two idiots over here.”  
  
“Of course not, Jaebum,” she responds, clapping her hands together, and points at the white gates in the distance. They’re already open, and she gestures at them, smile open and cheerful. “This way, Jisung.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ll be fine here,” Jisung assures Saerom when they reach a corridor with a dead end, descending from a spiral staircase. She raises an eyebrow, something clearly on the tip of her tongue, but says silent out of courtesy. “Thank you.”

“If you say so,” she murmurs politely, and sweeps into another deep curtsey. “I’ll take my leave.”  
  
Jisung bows back, bending at the waist, and doesn’t look up. The swish of Saerom’s skirts fades away in time with her near-silent footsteps as she climbs back up the stairs, and he straightens up as soon as he hears silence. He relaxes.

He slips over to the wall on the right, studying the paint, and brushes his fingers experimentally over the surface, searching. His fingers catch on a small, smooth bump, barely noticeable unless you were searching for it, and he presses his shoulder against it, pushing with all his might.

There’s a give, barely a stutter of something shifting under his weight, and then it moves fully.

A large portion of the wall swings open, with a great _creak,_ and reveals a room.

It’s dark, lit only by the few candles strewn around the room, a cluster situated in the middle of the only table there. It smells faintly of rich wine, fruit, and incense,  a distinctly ashy undertone to the fruity scent, and Two men sit there, discussing something under their breaths, and one clad in all black, the other dressed in dark maroon.

“Gods, you’re late,” Changbin criticizes, but there’s a tiny smile on his face that says maybe he isn’t annoyed at all. He huffs. “Chan’s been waiting forever.”

“Well,” Chan says, voice exasperated, “You were gallivanting from once place to another too, Changbin. Jisung, we’ve been waiting for an hour. Take a seat.”

“We have a revolution waiting for us,” Changbin says, smirking, and gestures towards a chair on Chan’s right.

"You try too hard to sound cool," Jisung sighs, but he slides into his seat, offering a blinding grin at the two of them, and leans forward. "Should we begin?"

 

* * *

 

Around the circular table, Changbin sits with his feet propped up on the table, fingers laced under his chin, and Chan sits as if his chair is a throne, resting his chin on one fist as he stares at the map on the table. Jisung crosses his legs at Chan’s right.

They’re mid-meeting: deep into debate.

Changbin’s accent is slipping out, making his words harsher, gravelly. Jisung responds by growing wordier, the aristocratic roots of his upbringing prominent in how he articulates his ideas. Chan’s brow is furrowed, the prince clearly deep in thought.

“The Far North is unwilling to give you support,” Jisung says, spreading his hands. “And the same goes for anyone in the Icelands. The West refuses to back you up without reason, and so does the South. The Sealands remain wary, and it has never been in their blood to trifle with what they deem as trivial matters. A war fought by men half the world away - what is that to them if not a trivial matter?”  
  
“And now it has almost been a year with no significant progress,” Chan says, sharp with frustration, before his anger crumbles and gives way to defeat. He buries his face in his hands. “Do we truly have no allies at all?”  
  
“We have the knights of the Kingsguard and the duke,” Changbin points out, eyes dark. “But Captain Park Sungjin has been sent to protect the border, and Sir Kang Younghyun and Park Jaehyung are being carefully watched over under the eye of Hwang Hyuntae. Duke Im Jaebum himself is gracious, but he only has political power. Everyone is too afraid of the new king to oppose him, Chan. The memory of your father’s death is fresh yet in their minds.”  
  
“And we can not ask any more of the duke,” Jisung agrees. “He has already promised to reach out to other royals to try to gain their favor. As our only other confirmed ally, Duchess Park Jihyo should be poised to help us, but for all her promises of military aid, she cannot lead a revolt on her own.”

“We’ve been over this far too many times,” Changbin says. He pours himself water out of the silver jug on the table, finger tapping against the surface of his cup. “We need allies. Allies need us to prove that we can _win_ and that you can rule _._ You are a young king, yet, Chan, in the wake of your father’s death, and you never sat on the throne. _”_

“More than you proving that you can win and you can rule,” Jisung adds on, pointed, “You need to prove that you can do it better than the current king. That is what will give you the allies you seek - and then you must kill him, and reclaim the throne by lawful right of succession.”  
  
“But I have no kingdom to _prove_ myself a better ruler by, nor do I have allies to support me if I launch attack like they want me to - and yet I need to do those things in order to gain my allies,” Chan says, frustrated. “How do you expect me to solve a paradox, Jisung?”

“I have told you this a thousand times, have I not?” Jisung inquiries, exasperated. He places his chalice down with an unprecedented amount of force. “If nothing else, you _must_ reach out to High Queen Jeon Somi.”  
  
Chan’s expression darkens. “I refuse.”  
  
“It’s not a choice, Chan,” Jisung refutes, pushing him further. The wine sinks into his system, sweet and thick. “You _have_ to. With her, she can bring the largest amount of military power to grace the country in ages. In your childhood, the two of you were friends. Despite how your companionship ended when she left to found her own country, if you want your throne back, you must journey and meet with her. With her will come Kang Daniel, Lim Nayoung, Shin Bora, Lim Nayoung, Ji Suyeon, Kim Chungha - a litany of names, a barrage of power. Some of those men and women are _legends,_ Chan. Their strength is unquestionable. You need them.”  
  
“I will not leave my country when it needs me _most,”_ Chan argues.

“It needs a _king,”_ Jisung snaps, aflame. The memory of the letter he had taken from his room flickers in his mind again, unbidden. “The man sitting on the throne now is not a king, nor are _you_ from where you play at politics. It needs a king, and the only way that you will be able to _become_ one is if you meet with Jeon Somi, like I have counselled you a thousand times.”

Chan stares at Jisung as if he’s been scalded, too shocked to respond. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.  
  
“I agree with Jisung,” Changbin says, perhaps too calm for the situation being discussed at hand. When both of their gazes turn to him, he shrugs. “It’s almost been a year, Chan. Time is not on your side.”  
  
“Even you,” Chan says. He slumps back into his seat, and quiet returns to the room. “How can I just leave?”  
  
“You must,” Changbin murmurs. His smile is soft, reassuring, something that would have looked odd on his intimidating countenance if the two of them hadn’t known him so well. “What good would staying do?”

No one speaks immediately. Changbin watches Jisung; Jisung watches Chan. Chan opens his mouth and closes it, a million expressions flickering over his face at once, and full moments pass before Chan speaks again.

“Then,” Chan says. The words sound like they’ve been wrenched from him, his syllables drenched thick in reluctance. “I concede. I will leave.”  
  
The others in the room let out a collective sigh of relief. Jisung relaxes in his seat. _At last._

“But - in return - “  
  
“Yes?” Jisung asks, blinking curiously.

Chan hesitates; Changbin tilts his head. “Do you want us to carry something out for you, Chan?”

“You both must keep an eye on the palace in my absence,” Chan orders haltingly. He leans forward, exhaustion apparent in every corner of his visage, but there’s still this overwhelming sense of regality that Chan exudes without thinking. “Your father has been urging you to take up permanent residence there, Jisung, in preparation of you becoming Minister of Finance, since he will retire soon. Accept his offer. Befriend the nobles, learn from the knights, become close to the current crown prince. And you will write if anything happens.”

Jisung processes the implications of his statement quickly, and Changbin tosses a look in his direction as if to ask if he’ll be okay with what Chan is asking of him. But it’s a fairly simple request, and Jisung knows more than anything that they _need_ Chan to meet with the high queen. If it just takes this much, then he’ll be fine.

“That much I can do,” Jisung promises, solemn.

“And,” Chan says, an uncharacteristically unsure tone in his voice, “Find the whereabouts of Kim Woojin.”  
  
_Ah._ There it is. Jisung averts his eyes, and then nods. Changbin murmurs an agreement, raising his cup. “Of course.”

Chan brings up his own goblet. Jisung follows suit.

They toast. The sound echoes in the empty room, a sharp, tinny clink. The deal is done, the wine has been drank. “To Sitraiys.”  
  
“And to her rightful king,” Changbin joins, inclining his head in Chan’s direction. Chan smiles back.

“To her rightful king,” Jisung echoes, raising his chalice to his lips. He tips his head back and swallows. “And long may he live.”

 

* * *

 

Saerom buttons up the front of his cloak for him, skilled hands finding the tiny metal clasp and closing as she walks backwards up the staircase. It’s poorly lit, and there’s something to be said for her dexterity and awareness of her surroundings, even as she focuses on straightening out Jisung’s robes and fixing them to the point of perfection. He can’t look like he was in a meeting plotting the demise of the current ruler with the supposedly dead crown prince today - he was supposed to be out vacationing, having an intellectual debate with the duke.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” she inquiries, clearly worried for his sake, and purses her lips when she can’t get his rings to align just right, tugging harder at a gemstone.

“I can’t,” he responds apologetically - he needs to get back home before morning to avoid suspicion, and they’re already far too behind schedule to avoid him riding at night. Saerom hisses out a curse under her breath when she nearly misses a step, reaching the top of the stairs. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” she assures generously, turning around, and unlocks the door with a key that she procures from her waist pocket. She gestures for Jisung to come quickly and close the door behind him, and he follows her as her footsteps click against the tiled floor. “This way.”

They hurry in silence for a while longer, amongst long halls and short halls, trap doors and hidden walls, and Saerom stops in front of the low, dirty servant’s entrance to the stables. She smiles up at Jisung, and Jisung bows back. “The duke told me to caution you to be careful on your way back, and bid you a safe journey.”  
  
“Thank him for me,” he responds, smiling at her in gratitude, before a more serious expression takes its place. “Excuse me for asking, but earlier - when the duke said you knew what we were doing - how much…?”  
  
“Ah,” Saerom said, ducking her head almost shyly, but when she looked up again, there was no trace of timidity on her face. “I know all of it. From more sides than one.”

Jisung blinks, lost.  
  
“Oh,” she says, as if surprised. Her eyes widen, and then, suddenly, she starts laughing brightly, a hand covering her mouth. “Excuse me, I wasn’t aware that you didn’t know. I’m Lee Saerom, here under the orders of Queen Choi Sunghee of the Far North. I was the one who opened your letter when Prince Bang Chan asked us if we were willing to be his allies.”

“You came here to pay respects to the king,” Jisung breathes out, the epiphany striking him like lightning. “That means…”  
  
“Yes,” she says, eyelashes sweeping to the side as she withdraws her hand from her lips. “I’ve come to pay my respects to all three of the kings - the dead king, the present king, and the future king. I’ve been ordered to choose a side for my Queen during my visit - the side that I believe will come out victorious.”

 

* * *

 

“I thought you knew about Saerom,” Changbin commentates, surprised. “She’s too clever to just be the wife of one man or another, her clothes are too practical for her to be some noblewoman, and Jaebum would have never told anyone about our plans if they hadn’t already known or if he hadn't trusted them to keep it a secret.”

Jisung frowns. “Now that you put it that way, I feel like a fool.”  
  
“Well, that’s because you are a fool,” Changbin points out, and dodges the kick that Jisung aims his way. He raises his hands up in surrender, grinning, and Jisung sends him a look of utter betrayal. _“Anyway,_ the details are murky, but Chan and Bambam will be departing tomorrow at dawn.”  
  
“I’ll be moving into the castle tomorrow, too, then,” Jisung muses. “Although not at dawn. The sooner we start - “  
  
“The sooner we’re finished,” Changbin finishes. They’re right outside of the stall holding Jisung’s horse, but they linger - not ready to say their goodbyes. They meet up every month, sometimes more, to discuss the future of Sitraiys, but...it doesn’t feel the same, when they’re outside of hidden rooms and plots of rebellion.

It’s different from when Jisung was eighteen, complaining about his father while Chan nodded sagely along (not listening at all, actually, he once confessed with an impish smile on his face) and Changbin attempted to charm Jisung into sharing his food, all of them laying in Chan’s bedroom. Changbin seems to feel the same. He looks at Jisung. “It’s different, isn’t it?”

Changbin doesn’t need to specify what _it_ is, because it’s them. It’s always been the three of them.  
  
“Well,” Jisung responds, “We’re different. We’ve grown up.”

“It’s weird,” Changbin says, instead of the quiet agreement Jisung was expecting. “You’re so...Chan, too, the both of you are…”  
  
“It’s for the better,” he responds when Changbin doesn’t elaborate immediately. Despite his words, a note of uncertainty leaks through, and Jisung has to shake his head to return to his normal confidence. “We can’t stay kids forever, you know.”

“I know,” Changbin replies. He unlatches the door, and wrinkles his nose at the scent of _horse_ that just comes through, shaking his head. “But that doesn’t mean it’s for the better. Do you remember what...Chan said? The first time we were in a meeting, two weeks after his father died?”  
  
Jisung’s heart lurches. He doesn’t know what Changbin is getting at. “I do.”  
  
“That was the first time that I thought that I didn’t really know Chan.”  
  
“Changbin - “  
  
“I know Chan is meant to be king,” Changbin interrupts, businesslike tone returning, and steps into the stall, beckoning Jisung to follow. He reaches for the reins and strokes his fingers through Jay’s mane absentmindedly, leading the horse out of the stables. “And I would never be able to think of a better man to be king than Chan. But the man I know - is not going to be the man on the throne. And neither is the man you know.”  
  
“Are you - saying that he’s unfit to be king?” Jisung whispers, incredulous, and huffs out a laugh. This is ridiculous, this entire conversation, and yet something in him agrees, eagerly adding on _I understand, I understand, I understand._ And he shouldn’t. Because this conversation is -

“No,” Changbin retorts, scowling. He whacks Jisung solidly on the head, and although Jisung stumbles and complains immediately after, it startles him out of his trance. This is _Changbin_ they’re talking about. “The throne is Chan’s, and I will always support him in his pursuit of it, no matter what. But he’s not the same as he was. Just...remember that.”

 

* * *

 

_“How do you kill a king?” Chan asked, looking at the two of them. Dark bags were more prominent under his eyes than Jisung had ever seen him, and there was a sense of distance hovering around him that Jisung had never been aware of before. Two weeks - was that enough to make this much change from when Jisung saw him last?_

_The cost of losing a king. The cost of losing your father - it was painted all over his face._

_Chan’s fingers closed around his golden chalice, fingers melding with the gold as if they were meant to fit there. Changbin had offered an answer first, quiet and sure._

_“You stab him,” Changbin said, cocking his head. “You attack him with your weapon. A just and honorable death, even if that is not what he deserves.”_

_“Wrong,” Chan answered grimly. Jisung watched the candle cast a moving shadow on the ex-prince’s face, and he thought the prince looked different - past the exhaustion, there was a core of a man changed._

_It only served to remind him further that in this room, in the wake of the new reign, he was not Jisung, but Han Ji-sung, nor was Changbin just Changbin but Seo Chang-bin. None of them were themselves, least of all Chan. “You take him off his throne first.”_

_The room hushed with bated silence for the fraction of a second._

_The lit candles crackled quietly, an almost-silent whisper in the room, the only noise left._

_“You take what makes him a king away, and what’s left is just a man,” Changbin mused. He sipped from his chalice. He seemed to agree with Chan, but there was something...his expression seemed mildly unsettled. “And all men are fated to die.”_

_“The king must die,” Chan echoed. “And with him, all of his line fit for the throne must fall as well.”_

_“What a bloodthirsty thing to say,” Jisung observed. “Surely the king’s death would be enough.”_

_“No,” Chan disagreed. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “The throne is cursed. It has been taken over by an unlawful usurper. This fact remains that Fortuna has not blessed their reign, nor will she ever.”_  
  
_“And thus,” Changbin concurred, “Their line is already fated to end.”_  
  
_“If the gods acknowledge Hwang Hyuntae’s kinghood,” Chan asserted, “When I raise my sword to cut off his head or his son’s, he will not die, and neither will his son. If they are truly fated to be kings, then my sword will not strike. But otherwise...”_

 _..._  
  
_“Hwang Hyuntae will die,” Jisung finally gave in. “And with him, Hwang Hyunjin.”_

 

* * *

 

The roads are slick with rain. When the dirt turns to cobblestone, Jisung slows his horse down to a walk as to avoid slipping.

_He’s not the same as he was._

_That’s the point, Changbin,_ Jisung thinks ruefully, urging his horse to follow the left fork where the road branches out. His hands tighten on the reins. _...I’m not the same as I was, either._

 

* * *

 

“Your cloak is wet,” his father notes disapprovingly as soon as he opens the entrance doors to allow Jisung in. “And you’re late.”  
  
“I’m always late,” Jisung sighs, and shakes the water out of his hair, lowering his hood. He places his mostly-dry satchel as far away as he can from himself. “It’s raining.”  
  
“Yes, I have eyes, Jisung,” Jihyun responds dryly, helping him unbutton his cloak. It drips water when it’s finally removed, but the minister hardly blinks as he rolls up his sleeves and wrings out the fabric. “And you know it would do good for you to be more punctual.”

“Maybe,” Jisung quips, but dutifully stays still. Water droplets form tiny puddles underneath him.

“Did you decide on a date for Chan to leave?”

“Tomorrow at dawn,” Jisung answers promptly, and watches as his father hums in acknowledgement.

“So you did it,” his father notes, hands soaked through with rainwater. “And did you have to - ?”  
  
“No,” Jisung says immediately. “No, I didn’t have to give him the letter. He just wanted my promise to watch over the palace in his place.”

“Ah,” his father says, understanding. He clicks his tongue, a sharp _tsk,_ and wrenches more liquid from Jisung’s cloak. It splashes onto the tile underneath their feet. “I see. If you move into the palace, you know you’ll have to talk to him, don’t you?“  
  
“I know,” Jisung says, already dreading the prospect. “I’m going to die.”  
  
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jihyun says, practical. “As a worst case scenario, he’ll just break a bone or two and apologize profusely to me. And even then, maybe you’ll get a chance to bond with the royal apothecarians and drag them into our plans.”

“Maybe I’ll just hide in my room for the rest of my life,” Jisung counters, scowling, but then a realization strikes him. “You won’t be there at the palace.”  
  
“No,” his father returns steadily. Scorn paints itself clearly on his father’s visage,, and yet… “I will not. The king has assured me that when my presence is required, he will send for me, but otherwise, I am _given the luxury of residing within my estate and carrying out my duties there._ Your cloak, Jisung.”

Jisung takes back his now semi-dry cloak, blinking at his father. “Will he trust me?”  
  
“Hwang Hyuntae?” Jihyun snorts. “Perhaps. He has a fondness for people who are easily manipulated but skilled at their given occupations, and if you can trick him into believing you fit into that category - well. However, he is not a fool. You’d have an easier job getting to the prince.”  
  
“The prince,” Jisung repeats. _Not Chan._ “Yang Jeongin?”  
  
“What power would he hold?” the minister asks rhetorically. The words are cruel, but they’re honest - and Jihyun seems wholly unperturbed by them, jerking his head towards the staircase and walking briskly. “He’s only a prince in name, Jisung - and that’s why Hwang Hyuntae let him live. I’m talking about Hwang Hyunjin, obviously.”

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” Jisung questions, hurrying to catch up, and his father nods. He remembers Hwang Hyuntae bringing his son with him when he met with Jisung’s father, a figure that Jisung smiled at over the dinner table and invited to sit near him. “I don’t remember much.”  
  
“Well, I’ve never liked Hwang Hyuntae, even when he was just a rich duke,” Jihyun responds easily, sniffing at the way Jisung tracks dirt in. “But you met around twice, when both of you were children. I thought Hyunjin took a liking to you, for what it’s worth - and drawing on that connection may be your best bet, especially if Hyuntae _does_ have a soft spot for his son like the rumors would suggest.”

“We’re around the same age, too,” Jisung muses. “Hwang Hyunjin...he’s never been seen out of the palace ever since his father took over, has he?”  
  
“No. Hyuntae is notoriously paranoid when it comes to his only heir, but the boy seems uncommonly well-received by the rest of the palace. They say he’s beautiful,” his father says as an afterthought, and wrinkles his nose. “Gods know what that means.”

 _Beautiful_ , Jisung thinks. He knows of beautiful people.  
  
“Would you give me any other advice, father, out of your never-ending generosity?” Jisung asks, exaggeratedly pouring gratitude into his voice as they climb the stairs, twisting around to look at his father’s face. His father barely bats an eye.

“Don’t think,” the minister offers shortly, pushing the door to Jisung’s room open, “That you’re cleverer than the noblemen and noblewomen, or the knights, or the king. You _are_ clever, Jisung, cleverer than anyone except Gloria herself, but you’ve also always been arrogant.”

 

* * *

 

“...Take a bath and to go bed already, for gods’ sake, Jisung, and leave your things out. I’ll take care of them.”

 

* * *

 

“Jisung, get up,” a disgruntled voice calls, and shakes his shoulder when he only groans in response. “How does your father - _Jisung, you’re going to be late.”_

Jisung jolts to a sitting position, visibly disheveled, and blinks blearily in the direction of a blurry figure. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he fell asleep - nor does he really remember when he fell asleep. “Wh...What time is it?”  
  
“Early,” his father dismisses easily, yanking the curtains open to allow sunshine to pour in. As Jisung’s eyes begin to focus, he catches sight of his father’s ceremonial robes, too fine to be mistaken for his normal clothing, and the silver jewelry that winds up his father’s arms. “I’ve laid out your outfit for you. Get ready quickly.”

“Is such fuss necessary if I’m simply going to move into the palace?” Jisung asks, pushing himself off of the bed and wobbling a little. He leans against a wall, blinking to regain his sleep-lost sense of balance back, and continues toward the door leading to the adjacent bath. “And why are you dressed so formally? You’ll just be seeing me off from the estate - “

“Jisung,” Jihyun says, and the blatant tension in his words is enough to make Jisung freeze and look back. “The king has requested an audience with you to celebrate your moving in, as his to-be next Minister of Finance. The messenger came when you were sleeping.”

Jisung -

 _“What?”_ _  
_

“Jisung, _listen to me,”_ Jihyun snaps, and now Jisung can see the tremble in his shaking hands, the fraying edges of his composure. His father is hanging by a thread, face already pale with worry, and Jisung feels fear creep up on his back. “The most likely scenario is that he’s trying to see whether you still care about the previous crown prince, and the king will be testing whether he can trust you to be loyal to him.”

“And in which case…” Jisung trails off, realization striking him. “But then - “  
  
“He’ll try to confirm your loyalty by testing you somehow, whether immediately or later in your stay in the palace,” his father says grimly. “And Jisung, you know - “  
  
“I know,” Jisung says, interrupting him. He swallows. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

“Minister,” the coachman sweeps into a bow, dark brown hair falling into his eyes. “The carriage is drawn.”

“Thank you,” Jihyun murmurs, and sweeps out of the front doors. Jisung follows.

 

* * *

 

“Minister Han Jihyun,” a guard says as they arrive in the main hall, unsurprised, and his gaze alights on Jisung. He’s dressed in a thick suit of armor, sword on his hip, but he has a light, easy smile and a respectful air. “And your son, Han Jisung. The king has been awaiting your presence. If you would follow me.”  
  
“Of course,” his father responds for the both of them, expression unreadable, and walks half a step behind the guard, shoes ghosting at the other’s heels. “Lead the way.”

Jisung walks slower, looking around discreetly. The people around him are identifiable to him immediately, despite being absent from court politics in the palace for almost a year - but time hasn’t changed them as much as he thought it might have. They all look mostly the same, some more haggard, some more vivid, and barely anyone seems to pay the duo attention.

And yet - whenever Jisung fixes his gaze back to the space right in front of him, he can feel the eyes of other people on his skin, prickling. Someone’s watching. Maybe more than just one someone.

 _You don’t notice,_ he tells himself. _Just focus on walking. You can figure it out later._

“The throne room,” the guard interrupts suddenly, steps stopping. Jihyun stops smoothly in front of Jisung, who has to take a step back to avoid colliding with his father.

The armored man gestures towards the grandest set of doors in the entire palace. Jisung’s eyes track the swirling oils, the painted visage of the gods and goddesses. “I’ll return to my post, but please feel free to ask those stationed outside these doors if you need any further assistance.”  
  
“Thank you,” Jisung says, before his father can speak, too-eager to get out of his head. The guard’s eyes linger curiously on him, but he doesn’t comment further.

“I’ll be taking my leave, then,” the man says, and dips into a short, shallow bow. “Excuse me.”

 

* * *

 

 _Will there be anyone to introduce us? Any nobles?_ Jisung had asked before they arrived.

His father had shaken his head. _It is designed to be private_ . _An informal affair._ A pause. _But if it were really an informal affair, would we have to meet the king?_

 

* * *

 

“Han Jihyun,” the king says as soon as the doors swing open, gaze falling upon the minister. “My old friend. How have you been?”

Hwang Hyuntae.

He sits upon the throne that Jisung has always imagined Chan sitting on, a welcoming smile painted on his face, and jarringly, Jisung thinks that the finery of the room seems to suit him more than the simpler lodgings of a rich duke ever did. He averts his eyes as soon as he can, sinking into a deep bow and refusing to look up.

The duke, _suiting a throne._ The thought makes Jisung’s skin crawl.

This room - so richly furnished, royal blacks and golds all over, portraits of flying crows and their wings spread all over the ceiling, gods and goddesses riding on the wings - is not meant to belong to Hwang Hyuntae. The seat at which he sat, burnished gold, with wings engraved on the legs, sweeping up the back of the throne - that is not where he is _meant_ to sit -

 _But if that’s true,_ something whispers in Jisung’s ear, the words trickling down his skin like ice water, _then why does he suit it so well, Han Jisung?_

“Your Royal Majesty,” Jihyun responds tonelessly. “I have been well, thank you. Your Royal Highness.”

His last greeting is addressed to the only other person that’s in the room - someone Jisung had barely realized was there. As opposed to the king’s overwhelmingly powerful presence, his son’s is quieter, colder, more subtle. Barely a ripple where his father is a tsunami.

Jisung barely sees his shoes from where he’s bent over in a bow, but he’s struck with the sudden desire to look upon the visage of a boy who is meant to be a replacement for a descendant of a god, the visage of a boy who is meant to be a replacement for _Chan._

“Raise your heads,” a softer, more youthful voice says. The formality sounds almost fond in his voice, a ghost of affection drifting through warmly. Jisung barely stops himself from gaping as he straightens up, inclining his head in the crown prince’s direction.

“My prince,” he says. His father looks at the prince steadily.

“It’s an honor to meet the both of you again,” Hwang Hyunjin responds. He inclines his head at Jisung’s father, barely a movement, but it’s enough respect to leave Jisung reeling, and smiles.

And Jisung realizes, thunderstruck -

The prince is _beautiful._

“I’m sure it has been a long journey,” the prince continues, glancing at Hyuntae, “but with my father’s permission, I would like to talk to you personally, Jisung.”  
  
“I’m afraid the choice lies wholly on your shoulders, Jisung,” the king responds. His care towards his son is prominent in his voice - never has Jisung heard Hwang Hyuntae’s voice sound warm with love. “I would not want to make you stay with him against your will, considering that you must be exhausted so early in the morning.”  
  
“No,” Jisung says. He exchanges a look with his father. _The test._ “No, I would be honored to speak with you, my prince. I am grateful to be given this opportunity."

 

* * *

 

“I’ll have a guard escort you and Hyunjin out, Han Jisung,” the king says. At his words, guards at the door snap to attention, springing into motion. Hyunjin stands up, rising from his throne, and bows first to his father, and then to Jihyun, and leaves the room first, Jisung and his attendants following. The king refocuses on the only person left - the minister. “And - ah. Jihyun.”  
  
“My king,” Jisung’s father returns levelly.

Hyuntae raises an eyebrow in amusement, resting his cheek against his fist. “You are free to leave, Minister. I know how busy you can be. It would be improper to draw you away from your finances when the fate of Sitraiys heavily depends on you.”  
  
“How generous,” Jihyun demurs. “I am in your debut.”

“If only it were so,” the king sighs, and laughs. “I am looking forward to seeing Han Jisung taking over as Minister in the near future, Jihyun. You must be very proud of your son’s accomplishments.”  
  
“Of course,” Jihyun responds. “They say our sons are the future, after all.”

“Yes,” Hyuntae agrees. His eyes are sharp at the corners, feline in with the acuteness of his perception. “And I am very fortunate that you have entrusted your future with mine.”

 

* * *

 

Jisung walks behind Hyunjin as if in a daze. His eyes flicker to Hyunjin’s eye, the beauty mark underneath it. It’s under his left eye - a crying mole. His eyelashes are long. He stands straight and proud, and Jisung can almost see a phantom crown atop his head.

“Who is your house’s patron god?” Hyunjin asks abruptly.

“Gloria, Your Royal Highness,” Jisung responds, belated. Hyunjin looks almost surprised from what little he can see of his face. “The goddess of ambition and glory.”  
  
“She leads you well,” the prince tells him, almost dismissive with how pragmatic he sounds, and, unbidden, adds, “My father and I are blessed with the grace of Venus.”

“The goddess of love and beauty,” Jisung murmurs. “I know very well. It is - “  
  
“Not the goddess of love and beauty,” Hyunjin corrects, and this time he pivots on his heel, turning around to face Jisung. His tone is cutting. “The goddess of desire.”  
  
Jisung almost wants to ask, _are they not similar, Your Highness?_

But he can’t, so Jisung simply looks back and inclines his head. His head swims. “My apologies, Your Highness. You are correct.”

Something in Hyunjin’s posture relaxes immediately at the admittance. He nods, almost to himself, and turns around again. They walk without another word.

The tension from earlier has dissipated, but Jisung’s gaze bores into Hyunjin’s back. His thoughts whirl around, mind overflowing wiht questions. Jisung wants to reach out and shake Hyunjin’s shoulders, stare into his eyes and demand why he -

 _Venus,_ he had said.

The royal family was blessed by _Fortuna,_ goddess of fortune and luck. Her regal visage was painted all over the palace, portraits lining every hall. Even peasant children were aware of that fact - they learned of how the founder of Sitraiys prayed to Fortuna, only a newborn goddess at the time, weak and fragile, to help him found an empire on the strange new land, vowing that he would give her everything he ever possessed in exchange for her power.

And she did. The stories said that his prayers gave her power, pouring new strength into her limbs. She appeared before him as a beautiful maiden, eyes as bright as the morning dawn, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and the contract was sealed. Fortuna helped him erect an empire, and he gave it back to her. Each stone in the palace walls had her name engraved on the bottom side, a promise to her. Stone by stone. Brick by brick.

And so she protected the royal family, each member of their line. She blessed them. But Hyunjin -

 _Venus,_ he said. _Venus._

The Hwangs, when they were dukes, had Venus as their patron goddess. But they were royalty now, Hyuntae taking the throne out of Chanwoo’s hands. Then why - why had he not said Fortuna? Why had he said -

 _Venus,_ he said. _Venus, the goddess of desire._

Hyunjin was easy enough to read. He had none of the lessons Chan had experienced as a youth to aid him, and it showed in every smile he gave, every flash of anger that passed through his eyes. And yet - despite the ease with which Jisung discerns his feelings, his thoughts - he remains an enigma.

Jisung keeps in time with Hyunjin’s steps.

 _Gloria,_ he thinks, _I am in desperate need of your guidance. I am not nearly as clever as I thought I was moments ago._

 

* * *

 

Jisung sits next to Hyunjin, a text open in front of him. They’re both seated at a small wooden table, legs folded underneath them.

The crown prince’s room is surprisingly sparse, and it seems especially empty with how bare it is. Bookcases line the walls, and there are shelves upon shelves of small, intricate boxes, but beside the table and bed, there is nothing else in the room.

Jisung pours Hyunjin a cup of tea. His hands are steady around the painted porcelain, and Hyunjin thanks him quietly when he hands it over to the prince, early dispute forgotten entirely. _Chan would have never thanked me._

Hyunjin’s dark eyes flutter up to his. He averts his gaze and tries not to look like he’s been thinking treasonous thoughts.

“How is the palace, Jisung?” Hyunjin asks, startling Jisung, and he barely manages to control his expression in time. “I understand that it’s been a while since you’ve been here.” _You haven’t been here since Prince Chan’s death._

“It’s a lot to take in,” Jisung responds reassuringly, sipping at his drink. He carefully phrases his next words. “Despite that, I’ve been adjusting well. I haven’t been here long, but people are...more welcoming than I’d have anticipated.”  
  
Hyunjin nods, and seems to accept that for an answer. Absently, Jisung thinks that Hyunjin seems more handsome up close, sunlight spilling onto his features from the open window, than he did in the throne room.

No, not more handsome - but more _earthly,_ less otherworldly.

More like a man than a god. More like a prince than a king.

“Has your father mentioned anything of me to you?”

“Of course, Your Highness. My father speaks highly of your mind, and praises your diligence.”

“I am not nearly half as adept at learning as the last prince,” Hyunjin dismisses easily, and Jisung makes a small, aborted motion out of shock before he pieces the words together. _The last prince._ That’s right. He’s not referring to Chan, but Jeongin - the last-born son of the previous Bang line. “But I should endeavor to pursue my studies with an able mind.”  
  
“Of course,” Jisung demurs. “The kingdom is lucky to have you.”  
  
Hyunjin hums in response. They sit like that in silence for a while, the birds chirping sweetly outside as Jisung reads and Hyunjin silently raises the tea to his lips. There’s no indication that he’s drinking outside of the gentle bob of the prince’s Adam’s apple and the slowly-emptying cup.

Hyunjin breaks the silence first.

“Do you think...I am unfit to be king?” Jisung’s gaze lurches to the young prince despite himself, jaw slack in shock, and Crown Prince Hwang Hyunjin gazes back steadily. Hyunjin’s gaze is dark, uncharacteristically perceptive, and Jisung freezes under the weight of it.

“No, Crown Prince Hyunjin,” he responds carefully, dropping his gaze. Hyunjin’s stare continues to bore into him, and Jisung pretends to leaf through the text in his hands. “Why would you ask that?”  
  
Hyunjin turns his head to the window of his room, and gives no answer. It unsettles Jisung more than a direct reply would have.

The air between them is now thick with an undefined tension, completely unlike their earlier relaxed atmosphere, and goosebumps form underneath Jisung’s silks. He scarcely dares to breathe. He closes his book, looking at Hyunjin over the now-cool teapot.

“May I be dismissed if you require no further services from me, Your Highness?”  
  
“Go,” says Hyunjin. Jisung bows deeply, standing up, and turns to open the door. “Jisung. Before you leave.”  
  
Jisung’s fingers hover a hair’s breadth away from the doorknob. The room feels unreasonably cold. “Yes, Your Highness?”  
  
“The walls talk, you know,” Hyunjin says, and Jisung can already tell without looking behind him that Hyunjin is watching his every move. His tone is soft as he talks, the timbre of his voice almost relaxing. “And not all of what they say are lies.”  
  
Jisung stands there for a second, very still. His heart jackrabbits in his chest, and he struggles to keep his voice level. “I don’t doubt it, Your Highness.”

“Hm,” Hyunjin says, barely a word. Jisung can imagine him slowly pulling his gaze away, the shadow of his spider-leg eyelashes on his smooth skin, the sweep of the black silk robes against his skin. “Remember what I told you today, Jisung. I would like to speak with you personally again in the future.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”  
  
“Close the door on your way out.”  
  
Jisung does.

**Author's Note:**

> so, welcome to the beginning of my second long-term planned project! this is a stray kids royal au that will have background ships, but focuses primarily on the relationships between people and how that influences their actions and long-term goals. there are no main characters with this, not really, but if i had to choose, i'd probably pick hyunjin and chan. perspectives will change every chapter or so, and some characters will have more chapters than others.
> 
> a lot of the fic will be based on implications, hidden meanings, and things are not so clearly defined. i understand that'll make it confusing (and i don't want it to be, but, alas, i end up making things confusing anyway), so please leave any questions you have in the comments! i'll respond to them asap. additionally, i'll be adding extra info bits at the end notes, which i recommend you read! or, at least, the worldbuilding parts. and so, here we go!
> 
> PATRON GODS/GODDESSES: in this universe, royal families have a god/goddess that they believe "bless" them with their support, and members of that house are believed to draw traits from their personality. for example, jisung's patron goddess is "gloria", goddess of ambition. as such, he believes he is blessed with her ambition and cleverness, like his father. whether this actually is true - that royals hold a real blessing of a god or goddess - is left unknown.
> 
> \- side note about gods/goddesses: the names and identities are modelled off of roman mythology, yes, but their hierachy, realm they have power over, and their symbols will differ in this story. for example, jupiter is the king of the roman gods, but here, fortuna is the queen and leader of all the gods and goddesses.
> 
> TONGUES: not actual tongues, sorry! the royals speak with the royal tongue, which is still in sitraiys' main language, but it's much wordier and old-fashioned sounding, like the line "I am not nearly half as adept at learning as the last prince", whereas what we would use to talk, like "I'm always late", is common tongue. changbin speaks a mix of the two, having learned royal tongue later on in life, and jisung also speaks a mix of the two, etc., which is why you'll see these derivations during the fic! common tongue is used at home and amongst others of a lower class, but jisung and his dad are just Weird and go on and off with the common tongue.
> 
> AGES/BACKGROUNDS: they're aged up in this fic, all in their late twenties/mid-twenties, depending on the character! in case you missed it, jisung is the minister of finance's son, chan is the ex-crown prince, and changbin is (which, while not mentioned) is the new general to-be. all of them are planning a revolution to overthrow hwang hyuntae and get chan on the throne. 
> 
> \- high occupational positions in the royal court are passed by lineage. this applies mainly to advisors and ministers. this is, again, because of the gods/goddesses thing. if cleverness runs in your advisor's family, wouldn't you want to continue have clever people in your family? well, if you just hire his son-to-be, then it's almost a guarantee that he'll be 
> 
> SUMMARY OF WHAT'S HAPPENED LEADING UP TO THIS POINT: so it's been almost a year since hwang hyuntae (hyunjn's dad) killed the previous king (bang chanwoo, chan's dad). when he killed chan's dad, only duke im jaebum was a witness, but everyone in the palace knew about it, and was actually under his control before the murder even took place somehow. and then hyuntae was like, "hey, let's kill the heirs so there's no threat of them coming back!", but the knight he had sent to kill chan actually was killed by one of the knights who was still loyal to king chanwoo, and then woojin (a squire @ the time) came and told chan to hide out at jaebum's place. and because they couldn't say the ex-crown prince was still alive, they said chan was dead and killed someone else to take his place. and now chan's alive, kicking it with jaebum, and trying to get his throne back, while hyunjin's dad grows older by the day, meaning that hyunjin may succeed the throne before chan gets it back... (and now jisung's moved into the palace as chan looks for help from foreign dignitaries, and changbin and jisung's dad are just trying to keep this whole thing a secret.)
> 
> find me at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/beejiheons) or, if you just want to drop a message, my [curiouscat!](https://curiouscat.me/beejiheons)


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